


we've got magic in our veins

by angelesblackqueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Witch!Lily, Witchcraft AU, lawyer!james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18091718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelesblackqueen/pseuds/angelesblackqueen
Summary: Lily, James, chasing dreams and the realism of witchcraft.





	we've got magic in our veins

**Author's Note:**

> A modern Jily witchcraft AU that's been sitting at the back of my mind for a few weeks and I finally decided to write because why not.  
> Btw, for those of your who don’t know Häxan is a 1922 silent horror film about what makes witches and superstition and manhunts and it was part of the inspiration for the Blair Witch Project and yes it is as creepy as it sounds. xx

The first time James considers pagan occult practices he’s in Tesco’s at 4 AM.

The slow beeping of the cash register is the only sound as the groggy line pushes itself forward. James, clutching bis bags of crisps and six bottles of wine, thinks miserably about his impending eulogy.

Maybe he should sacrifice some bread to the devil. If he was stuck in a fiery pit all day, he’d be craving a baguette.

“Next,” the mind-numbed cashier mumbles and the line pushes forward.

Sirius texts him and James scowls at the lack of punctation.

**u gt the stff???**

Awkwardly, using on hand to punch in the letters and cursing his best mate to hell, James texts back: **_yes,_ fucker. Use your goddamn words.**

Sirius responds with an emoji sticking out his tongue because Sirius doesn’t believe in mincing words, and a hand flipping the bird because Sirius likes to make it known how little he cares about you.

_Beep. Beep._

Someone is buying 30 cans of cat tuna and six boxes of wine and James thinks they might be having a worse night that he is.

Fuck it, he needs a miracle.

The cart in front of him is unattended and he’s about to push his cart in front of it when a blur of red darts past.

The woman, in her early twenties and with shoulder length red hair, looks like the most dangerous woman he’s ever seen. She’s also Sirius’s soulmate if the leather jacket she’s wearing is anything to go by.

She frowns at James as she sidles up to her cart, dropping a gallon bag of salt in it, alongside a dozen purple wax candles, pliers, six bottles of tequila, wood chips, cat flea medicine and a light up Santa Clause.

It’s March.

Her heels click on the linoleum floor and James knows he’s staring, but the woman stares right back at him.

She’s got lipstick on the side of her mouth, as if she’s been pressing her lips together lately.

Fuck, he should stop staring at her lips.

He needs to stop staring at her lips.

He texts Sirius: **_for a lawyer I should be better at arguing with myself._**

 _Miracle._ Miracle. He needs a miracle.

The dangerous redhead in front of him looks up sharply and her eyes meet his. They’re the brightest green he’s ever seen. There’s a strange look in her eyes, almost considering.

_Beep, beep._

The lines moves forward. “Next,” the numbed cashier mumbles.

The woman pays for her strange groceries and leaves without a backwards glance, but James stares at the walls, his skin prickling.

Something is starting.

* * *

 

“Coffee, arsehole,” Sirius says when James pushes open the door to the small coffee shop. His best mate is standing behind the counter, a sour expression on his face.

James glances at the cup that’s been shoved at him, his eyebrows raising. “Thank…you?” he ventures. “What’s the face?”

Sirius grumbles something like, “Fucking _men,”_ and waves him away.

James watches him, bemused, then turns and searches for a place to sit down. He has a case file he needs to go over in preparation for a mind-numbing day of court tomorrow and he’s looking forward to it about as much as he is to being boiled slowly alive.

The rain pounds against the windows of the cozy little shop and James finds a free couch tucked in the corner and sits down with his bag. He straightens his glasses and gets out his papers, then Sirius reappears, still scowling, but this time bearing a croissant.

“This is why I adore you,” James says, beaming. He’s about to take a bite when he pauses.

It’s her.

Sitting by the window, curled up on a velvet couch with a—he blinks—black cat curled up on her lap, is the redhaired woman from Tesco’s. She’s got glasses perched on her face, a surprisingly scholarly thing considering she’s wearing fishnet tights and a black leather jacket. She’s intermittently writing things down in a notepad as she scans the—dark and scary looking—book open in her lap and taking sips of tea from her cup.

Sirius sees him staring and his brows flick up. “Don’t, mate,” he says. “Don’t become all dopey-eyed over Evans.”

“Evans?” James asks, trying to hide how his heart jumps at the name. _She has a name._ Fucking hell, he’s pathetic. “That’s her name?”

Sirius grunts and eyes the woman distrustfully. “She’s…odd,” he says. “People say she’s a witch.”

James laughs, but when Sirius’s expression remains dark he stops. “Wait, seriously?” He glances over at the woman. She’s got a wrinkle in her brow and she glances between her notes and the book with a befuddled expression. “That’s ridiculous.”

Sirius shrugs. “People don’t seem to think so,” he says.

“Which people?” James demands, which, to be fair is perhaps a bit of an overreaction considering he’s only seen the girl once in his life, but his parents raised him to be chivalrous and goddammit he’s _seen_ Häxan a hundred times and this will not turn into a manhunt if he’s got anything to say about it.

“People,” Sirius says vaguely. “She’s just…she’s strange, mate.”

He leaves and James keeps watching the girl. She flips the page in her books and pets her cat. No one else seems to notice the cat and James wonders at that.

He wonders about her.

Before he can think about what he’s doing, James stands up, taking his tea and croissant with him.

She doesn’t notice his approach, until James plops himself down next to her. “Hello,” he says.

She jumps and stares at him. She blinks furiously and the cat hisses. She looks around, then scowls at him. “What the hell are you doing?” she snaps.

James finds himself smiling, despite her hostile tone. “Saying hello,” he says. “I love your cat. I love cats in general actually—always wanted one growing up, but my mum always said it would scratch up the furniture, so she stuck me with a puppy instead. Didn’t even compare. What’s your cat’s name? Is she friendly?” James reaches out a pet the cat, and it doesn’t hiss again, but it does give him an unimpressed look.

 _Moron,_ it seems to be saying.

Privately, James agrees and is very glad he’s not genetically prone to blushing, because he’d be dangerously red by now.

_Thank you, Mum. Knew your gene pool was good for something._

The girl hasn’t said anything yet, but after several long seconds of silence she tilts her head. “You’re talking to me,” she observes. Her voice is low and fainted accented—Scottish maybe. She’s got a raspy quality to her voice that makes him think she probably smokes. It makes him even more interested in her.

James blinks. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“People say I’m a witch,” she says. She doesn’t sound bothered by it. “I could curse you.”

He considers her. Her glasses are crooked, just as his are prone to be, and he wants to straighten them. “Well, are you a witch?”

She looks at him for a long moment, her lips pressed together. The cat purrs loudly. “What’s your name?” she asks.

“James,” he says instantly. “James Potter, pleased to meet you.” He holds out his hand.

She doesn’t take it, just tilts her head. “I’m Lily,” she says after a second.

_Lily Evans._

James leans back into the couch cushions. “So, are you?” he asks again. “A witch?”

Lily considers him, like she’s looking for something, and then her lips curve faintly. She takes a sip of her tea. “Only on Thursdays,” she says.

He laughs and thinks her words sound like magic.

* * *

 

James spends the entire afternoon with Lily, sitting on that couch, and yet when he returns home that afternoon, still smiling, the only thing he knows about her is the name of her cat (Salem, because apparently she has a wicked sense of humor and has also watched the classic 90s series a thousand times. James just about dies and proposes marriage right there).

He doesn’t get her number, doesn’t know anything about her except that he wants to know more.

James spends the whole following day in court, arguing about tax evasion and trying not to off himself, then promptly returns home and collapses into bed, thinking, _Fuck life._

The doorbell rings at seven AM and James wakes with a start.

“Whoever that is I am going to fucking _murder_ them—” he grumbles, swiping at his bleary eyes beneath his glasses and he wrenches the door open.

Lily, wearing a black pantsuit with a plunging V-neckline and dark lipstick, looks coolly at him.

“Good morning,” she says casually, as if they’re running into each other at the fucking supermarket. “I need your help.”

James blinks, dumbfounded. He pinches himself, sure that this is a dream. The harsh stinging of his arm assures him that it is not. “You—what—how—” he sputtered incoherently.

Lily pushes past him into his flat and he scrambles to shut the door. “You—how did you even know where I _live?”_ he demands. “I swear, if Sirius is handing out my address to the Single Women Looking For Husbands club again—”

Lily scoffs, looking unaffected by his ranting.  “Please,” she says. “You stink of this part of town. All…grass lawns and tile roofs and something you can’t put a price tag on but can’t buy without money.”

James stares, then sniffs himself surreptitiously. All he smells is the cheap Dial soap he washed with last night and the fancy lavender pomade he stole from Sirius for his hair.

Lily surveys his messy sitting room, then turns to him. “Like I said, I need help,” she announces, as if she hadn’t just barged into his home at seven AM.

James rubs his eyes. “Like…help summoning the devil?”

She rolls her eyes. “Legal help,” she says and taps her foot. She’s wearing combat boots. “So can you?”

“Legal help?” he repeats. There’s no way this is happening.

“Yes. You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” she says.

“Well, I am, but how did you—” he grips his hair. “Never mind. What did you do?”

“It’s not for me,” Lily snaps, looking offended. “It’s for my cousin.”

“Did she summon the devil?”

Lily narrows her eyes. “She crashed her car into a K-Mart.”

“Oh,” James says blankly. He has a sudden mental image of a little red-haired witch with a pointy hat and a broom in the front seat of a Ford, doing 144 kilometers. “Oh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair again. “Well, I’d need eyewitness and some files and the police report—and coffee, lots and lots of coffee—”

Lily blinks at him. “Wait, you’ll do it?” She sounds genuinely surprised.

James pauses. “Sure—I mean, of course.”

She beams suddenly and it hits him like a fucking train wreck. That she looks so happy.

James sits down at his desk and opens his laptop. He has a sudden thought. “Hey, why can’t you just turn back time or something?”

Lily scoffs. “Please. I only mess with temporal loops on leap years.”

She hands him a steaming cup of coffee that his scattered brain is rather sure appeared from nowhere. It’s in a yellow mug with little blue flowers that he does not own.

He feels hardly in control and dazed as he turns to his computer and wonders what the fuck he’s doing.

But he glances back and sees Lily bite her lip, eyes bright and her neatly black painted nails tapping on her arm. Her hair looks like fire.

She doesn’t seem like a witch.

Lily catches him staring and frowns. It’s harsher than the smile, but he likes it better.

James turns back to his desk, opening a new file, and feels something nameless and bright take flight in his chest.

* * *

 

Here’s the thing—James has objectively always known he wanted to be a lawyer.

He can fight crime, make the world better—make his parents proud.

Here’s the truth—James hates it.

Somehow, as he’s sitting in the passenger seat of a car with a girl—a witch?—he barely knows, going into the unknown, scary countryside to visit her cousin, where he could possibly be murdered or sacrificed to Satan, James finds himself thinking about this.

About his career, about his life.

He glances at Lily as they rumble down a horribly bumpy path that jogs his liver.

About how his life could be ending.

Bullshit. It’s all bullshit.

Lily parks the car on the side of a dirt road, next to a large field which is unremarkable except for the stone cottage next to it.

“Was your cousin injured in the accident?” James asks as they go up the path.

The cottage looks normal, cute even, but then he spots a rosebush growing black flowers and something long and white sticking out of the ground that looks very much like a human bone and he suddenly wishes he’d told Sirius where he was going, or at least called his mum a last time to tell her he loved her. And that even if he’d lived, she was going to be terribly disappointed in him and it would probably kill her, so they were really better off with him being a sacrifice to a pagan god.

It doesn’t help his nerves that its grey and looks like its about to rain (not that that’s unusual, it’s England, it’s always raining) and he feels like an extra in _The Shining_.

The one that gets gruesomely murdered by a gorgeous woman.

Said gorgeous woman replies, “No, mostly it was her car. But K-Mart is kicking up a fuss, because it’s a fucking self-important corporation.”

“Right,” James says, latching onto that. Regular law stuff he can handle. Corporations and insurance claims. Normal. “Big corporations are usually like that.”

Lily just humphs, then knocks on the wooden door.

James’s heart jumps when nothing happens.

Lily pounds on the door again, significantly harder, and it suddenly swings inward.

“You’re late,” a tiny woman declares, glaring at them. “I expected you at 5 AM.”

James stares at her. She doesn’t look very odd--she’s wearing jeans and a flower print top—in fact she’s rather pretty, with short brown hair and thick framed glasses. And yet James feels like she’d the oddest person he’s ever seen.

“In,” she snaps and Lily gently pushes James to get him moving.

He crosses the threshold without any harm to his person and he tries to relax as he takes in the interior.

It’s cozy, if a bit cluttered, and there are books _everywhere._ Stacked on the floor, in shelves, covering a third of the couch—it’s a sea of creased spines and paper.

“Tea or coffee, James?” the cousin demands even though he hasn’t introduced himself. “Or wine?” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Coffee, obviously. Tall and strong with a dash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar.”

James gapes at her.

She adds unrepentantly, “I only have Stevia. Tried this stupid diet just to see if it worked.” She snorts. “Most certainly does _not_. The things people will try.”

Lily speaks for the fist time and she looks faintly amused. “James, this is my cousin, Mary MacDonald. Mary, this is James.”

“James T. Potter,” Mary supplies, as if he’s unaware of this fact or needs reminding. “Born 27 March. 188 centimeters tall. Forgot to iron his trousers this morning. I’ll get the coffee, shall I?”

“Mary’s an acquired taste,” Lily says offhandedly and moves into the sitting room.

James follows automatically, trying to wrap his head around this. He’s still stuck at the front door. He gives up in short order.

Mary is, impossibly—he’s beginning to rethink that word—already sitting in an armchair in the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and two steaming cups on the coffee table.

“I got you your boring arse Earl Grey,” she says to Lily, who rolls her eyes, then Mary fixes her beady gaze on James. “Drink,” she orders.

James sits down next to Lily on the couch and warily takes a sip of his coffee.

He almost chokes. It’s _definitely_ not coffee. At least not any coffee he’s ever tasted before.

It’s not anything. It has feel, but no substance, and it dissolves like sunlight on his tongue. It makes his entire body warm, brings to mind his mother’s laugh in winter, his father’s embrace.

Lily takes a sip of her tea and doesn’t say anything, but James sees her shoulders relax.

Mary looks smug.

James hastily puts his cup down, his skin prickling. “So,” he says, getting out a notepad. “Can you describe the accident to me?”

Mary does—happily and with great relish.  She recalls every detail—down to the _horrid_ sweater the K-Mart employee was wearing—and James quickly deduces that this is the sort of case he can get dismissed in a second. The corporation was clearly liable because their construction had distracted Mary’s driving.

“Excellent,” Mary cheers, clapping her hands. “Those pesky big time lawyers kept trampling my cabbages.”

“You garden?” James asks, relieved at the seemingly normal topic.

“No,” Mary says. “Obviously, it’s for the gnomes.”

Lily snorts and Mary fixes her gaze on her while James tries to work out if she was serious. “I see you didn’t bring that demon cat,” Mary says.

Lily raises a brow, taking another sip of her tea. She looks the most relaxed he’s ever seen her. “If Salem were a demon, I would have named him accordingly,” she replies. “Names are idiotically temperamental things. And he told me he’d prefer not to eat your mediocre tuna again.”

Mary squawks.

It’s at this point that James’s brain decides to give up entirely and he doesn’t even try to process that last sentence.

“Lily Drusilla Evans—” Mary begins in a forbidding voice and the hair on James’s arm raise. Lily cuts her off.

“Ah-ah, not again,” she snaps, glaring. “Last time Aunt Loraida took your voice for a week.”

James feels entirely out of his depth.

“Worth it,” Mary sasses.

“In my opinion,” James says unhelpfully, “aunts usually deliver the worst punishments.” He shudders. “Once, my Aunt Walburga washed my mouth out with soap.”

They both stare at him, then Mary snorts and they both start laughing.

Mary’s is significantly more mocking, but Lily’s…Lily’s is just about the best thing he’s ever heard, he thinks as he watches her tilt her head back, light glinting on red.

He’s never met anyone quite like her.

They stay another half an hour—James can only understand half the conversation, something about broken pink umbrellas—then as Lily is collecting her coat and he’s opening the door, Mary corners him.

“You’re alright,” she says. “For a lawyer.” Then she squints at him. “Dreams don’t grow on trees,” is all she says and lets him go.

James can’t figure out if it’s a warning or a prediction or a fortune cookie slogan she’d memorized to whip out on unsuspecting layers and terrorizing them into doing her bidding.

But it is something, James thinks.

He sees Lily out of the corner of his eye, red hair like fire and lips pulled down into a frown.

Something like the tea, like the cat. Something like Lily herself.

_Something._

* * *

 

“If we watch The Holiday again, I will smack you,” Remus says as they wander the video store.

“It’s a Nancy Meyers classic!” James argues, knowing it’s futile. They’ve had this conversation before. “It’s _love,_ Remus!” He shakes the DVD at him under the fluorescent lights. “You are _scoffing_ your nose at love. You’re—”

“—sick of seeing the same movie every week,” Remus says flatly. “Pick another one.”

James scowls and looks mournfully at the DVD as he places it back onto the shelf.

He _loves_ Nancy Meyers. And Jude Law, that handsome bastard.

(Remus is just a bitter bastard). (James will just watch it on demand tomorrow anyway).

“I hate you,” he sulks, because a principle is a principle and scoffing your nose at Nancy Meyers is nothing to be taken lightly.

“Good for you,” Remus replies. “Now pick a goddamn film so we can go home.”

James grumbles, but turns back to the racks of movies and shiny laminated spines. He doesn’t know why he does it, but something prickles at him and he looks up right as they turn the corner.

Lily, holding onto a DVD, blinks at them.

James feels his breath whoosh out of him. “Lily,” he says.

She blinks again and her gaze darts to Remus. “No arsehole number one?” she asks.

“I’m number two,” Remus says dryly. “Remus Lupin.”

Lily’s lips twitch and James feels a surge of ridiculous jealousy. “Lily Evans,” she says, as though James hadn’t had to pry her name out of her when they met.

“Getting a film?” James asks, nodding at the object in her hand.

Lily looks at it. She shrugs. “I get bored sometimes,” she says, showing him that it’s the extended editions of all the Lord of the Rings.

James’s eyes widen. “Brilliant!” He turns to Remus. “That’s what we should do! We haven’t watched LOTR in _ages.”_

Remus considers it. “Fine,” he says. “But if you quote every second of it again, I will disown you.”

Lily wrinkles her nose. “Who uses abbreviations while talking?” she asks, sounding personally upset by this fact. “Also, you’re out of luck. I grabbed the last copy.”

James deflates. “Fuck.” He glances at Remus. “I’d be willing to compromise with Father of the Bride,” he offers.

Remus scowls at him. “ _No_ Nancy Meyers,” he says firmly.

Lily watches them with raised eyebrows and James turns to her. “Hey,” he says. “Do you think you might be willing to share your treasures? Perhaps in exchange for chocolate?”

“You’re bribing me with chocolate,” she says flatly, her face blank. “To give you _my_ movie.”

“To watch it with us!” James insists. “It’d be charitable. We never agree on any movies and we’ll be here until next month at this rate.”

He’s certain she’s going to say no, but that shows just how much he knows about her when she goes, “Well, alright then. I’ll meet you at your place in half an hour and I expect chocolate.”

She turns and leaves without another word and then James turns to Remus with a grin. “See? Movie dilemma solved.”

Remus has a contemplative expression on his face as he stares after Lily. “Hmm,” is all he says.

James’s brows shoot up. “Hmm? What the fuck is hmm? Remus? _Remus?_ ”

Remus just hmms again.

Lily does indeed meet them at his house and James doesn’t know whether or not to be unnerved that this woman has so neatly managed to insert herself into his life. Or why he even wants her to.

James delivers his promise of chocolate, which actually makes Lily smile, and she then proceeds to hog the entire bag for the entirety of the first movie.

(Poor Remus was left in the dust when it turned out that he now had not one but _two_ avid movie quoters and Lily and James even started a silent game of who could say the quote first. Lily is definitely winning).

Watching the lights play out on his telly, reclined on his couch, James feels tired. Tired of work, of life in general. He can see Lily’s silhouette and she glances over at him, the reflection of the film glinting off her eyes.

She looks dangerous and unearthly, but then she shifts, tucking her legs under her as Aragorn and Eowyn talk on screen, and she’s Lily again.

Remus leaves at midnight, halfway through the second movie and James somehow ends up sprawled out on the floor with Lily, lying on their stomachs as the lights play on their tired eyes.

He feels the brush of her fingers against his and he looks over, but she hasn’t moved. James swallows, watching her for a long moment. She’s got a look of intense concentration on her face as she watched the movie, but her shoulders are relaxed, fingers tapping on the blankets.

What makes you human, he wonders. What marks the difference between a girl and a witch.

His eyes grow tired as the hours wear by and Lily eventually drops off to sleep as well. James tries to stay awake, but even the battle noises from the telly can’t shake the rising tide.

James sleeps until the early hours of dawn. Something wakes him, but when he stirs he’s alone. Lily’s spot next to him is empty and cold in the grey dawn light. Except for…

James touches the soft petals of the long stemmed red rose lying in the shallow cradle of the blankets. The petals are as cold as ice and the thorns are jagged and sharp.

There’s nothing left but that.

* * *

 

The days blend together, without a solution to his problem and without word from Lily, and James feels increasingly like shit.

One day, Sirius slams the door to his house, opening his mouth to speak, then stops when he sees James moping on the couch.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius says. “You’re being a depressed arse, aren’t you?”

“There’s no good way to do it,” James says miserably. “My family will be crushed if I quit being a lawyer. My mum…well, my mum will be devastated that I’ve ruined her dreams of me becoming a world famous judge, and she might turn her attitude around if I find something that I like better, but until I do she’s not going to accept any excuses and my _dad.”_ He groans, raking his hands through his hair. “He’s going to be so disappointed. Not to mention I have no idea what I’d _actually_ like to do! I could be throwing my life away for nothing!”

Sirius listens to this silently, then steps forward and grabs James’s jacket. He tugs. “Up,” he orders.

James is miserable enough that he doesn’t even bother arguing as Sirius drags him out of his house and into the streets. They walk a few blocks and James is just about to demand where he’s taking him when the coffee shop that Sirius works at comes into view.

James shuts up as they enter, but shoots Sirius a look. “You’re not working today, arsehole,” he says. “And if the entire bar of chocolate I ate this morning didn’t cheer me up, I don’t think a cappuccino will--”

Sirius ignores him and continues dragging him over to the corner. James’s steps slow and his heart beats faster as they approach. Salem hisses slightly.

Lily looks up from her scary looking books, a frown on her face. It lightens slightly when she sees them, but then it deepens again as she sees James’s listless expression.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks Sirius immediately.

Sirius shoves James forward. “He’s overturning his life and six years of work and uni bills and possibly sending his mother to an early grave for an unassured future.”

Lily blinks. “Ah.” She sets down her scary book, looks James over. “Well.” She hops to her feet. “I know just the thing for that.”

James doesn’t have time to protest before she and Sirius each take one his arms—like he’s a bloody _child_ or something—and drag him out of the coffee shop. Lily abandons her stuff and Salem without a care and James wants to ask about them, but by that points Lily is heading for a row of hedges by the side of the road and he’s a bit more concerned with his current predicament.

“Where are we--” he starts but then his tongue burns and he finds he can’t form words.

Lily tramples past the hedge into someone’s backyard and walks determindedly on a little dirt track that leads between houses. Sirius follows with grim support and James feels distinctly ruffled.

He mentally calls them all sorts of bad names as they enter a yard with yet another hedge and this time Lily doesn’t go around it. Tugging on James’s arm—he’s definitely reluctant now—she forces her way through a meager crack in the hedge.

James squeezes his eyes shut, expecting to feel thorns scratching into his skin and leaves raking through his clothes—

Fresh air brushes against his skin and he cracks open an eye, then blinks and opens them both. They’re standing at the edge of a large, flat plain. The sky is heavy and grey with rain and it’s freezing, but the grass is the kind of vibrant green you only get in spring and James can _breathe._

Sirius seems less charmed by their location, looking around with a curled lip, but he doesn’t protest as Lily leads them towards the center of the plain.

“We,” she declares once they’ve stopped in some random spot that is apparently just right, “are having a picnic.” She opens her purse and pulls out a large cloth which she spreads out on the ground. “Sit,” she orders, sounding remarkably like Mary, and James feels like he doesn’t have any choice but to do so.

Lily continues digging around in her purse for a few moments, mumbling to herself, then pulls out a few containers with food and—James’s eyes bug out—an entire bottle of wine.

Sirius doesn’t seem surprised by this strange little show and he doesn’t hesitate before grabbing a cookie from a tin.

Lily, looking pleased with herself, takes one as well.

The wind picks up and rain drops begin to plunk down onto them. James looks up at the sky, seeing the beginnings of what is surely going to be a ferocious storm coming down on them.

“Shit,” he says, surprised that he can speak again. Sirius frowns and hunches into his leather jacket.

Lily, however, doesn’t make any moves and she continues eating her food calmly. After a few seconds James notices that the food, strangely enough, isn’t getting wet even though they are.

Not strangely. Magically.

James looks at Lily, the rain matting her hair to her skin, her mascara beginning to run and her eyes closed as she tilts back her head. She seems impossible.

James almost smiles and he tilts his head back too, letting the rain fall on him. It feels…he doesn’t know how it feels.

It just is.

An hour later after a mostly silent picnic they stagger home to James’s flat, all of them looking like drowned cats. The real cat is waiting for them on James’s doorstep, looking wet and miserable and Salem hisses at all of them when James can’t unlock the door fast enough.

“Bad cat,” Lily tells him, then they all stumble into his living room.

James is freezing, but he can’t quite muster up enough energy to take a shower, so after he and Sirius change, they return to the living room, where Lily is sitting. She hasn’t changed her clothes, but she doesn’t look cold.

“Is nearly drowning on picnics usually a part of your repertoire?” Sirius asks her. “All that witchy shit?”

Lily’s lips quirk. “I don’t know about,” she says. “But how does getting sloshed sound?” She holds up a bottle of wine that James is actually 80% sure is his.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Sirius says happily, reaching for the bottle.

Lily grins and looks at James. “James?” she asks and he starts. It might be the first time she’s actually addressed him by his name.

James’s heart pounds as he crosses over to his couch. “Bring it on,” he says.

Lily actually laughs again and hands him the bottle.

Things go hazy from there—James is rather certain Sirius ends up dancing on the dining room table at one point—but he remembers Lily laughing more than he’s ever heard her laugh before.

He laughs too, even though nothing is funny and he feels drunk and out of control and _alive._

The night wears on and Sirius has disappeared somewhere else in the flat, possibly to drunkenly call Remus or just to collapse and James is sitting on the couch next to Lily. She’s looking at him, not smiling and her eyes are gleaming.

“You’re going to disappear again, aren’t you,” he says quietly.

Lily doesn’t move. “Maybe,” she whispers and kisses him.

Her lips are soft and they taste like roses and James feels drunker off them than he does the alcohol. They don’t move from their positions on the couch, but as James is kissing her back he can’t think of anything but her.

Lily draws away, her breath ghosting on his lips. She doesn’t smile, but he can feel her fingers tremble.

This, he thinks, is magic.

* * *

 

Lily’s gone again in the morning, but James wakes up smiling. Sirius is passed out in his bed and he doesn’t wake him as he potters around the kitchen, making breakfast and a bushel load of coffee for the pounding headache he’s starting to get.

He remembers the press of her lips against his, the way her hair was tucked over her shoulder and feels the overwhelming desire to see her again.

James realizes he’s out of milk, so he grabs his keys and steps out of the house. The supermarket is only a five minute walk away and he doesn’t bother driving, appreciating the fresh air on his face.

He wants to see Lily, he thinks.

As he’s grabbing the milk from the refrigerator, an old woman in the aisle waves at him. Confused, James tentatively waves back.

She glances around quickly, then walks up to him. “Young man,” she says, “what in Lord’s name do you think you’re doing?”

James freezes. “Uh…buying milk?”

Her face contorts into a frown. “You should stay away from that girl,” she tells him. “I’ve seen you together, and I tell you, she’s no good. She’s a…” she clams up and shakes her head.

James’s arm drops, a particular kind of numb anger filling him. “You’re telling me,” he says flatly. “To stay away from Lily. _Lily._ ”

The woman shudders. _“Yes,”_ she says fervently. She clamps her cold, claw like hand onto his wrist. “It’s not too late.”

James feels like he’s having an out of body experience. First seeing a witch in Tesco’s at 4 AM and then being mauled by an old granny with aspirations to be a witch hunter while he’s trying to buy milk.

“It most certainly is too late,” James snaps, losing all interest in being polite. He pulls her arm out of her grip. “Because there’s nothing wrong with Lily in the first place. And I’d thank you to mind your own business.”

The old lady opens her mouth, but James adds curtly, “Good day.”

Then he turns on his heel and marches away, abandoning the milk in the fridge.

His heart is fucking pounding and he can’t _believe_ that just happened. “What is this, 1312?” he mutters furiously to himself, stomping out onto the pavement. He’s hit with the sudden, burning desire to see Lily. Not just to kiss her, like he’d been daydreaming about earlier, but to just be with her. Her dry humor and long silences and the creepy cat.

He’s about to call her when he realizes he doesn’t have her number. Cursing, James hurries home then digs up an ancient phone book in the back of his closet. He’s hunting through the registry when a groggy Sirius grumbles, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Looking for Lily’s number,” James says distractedly, running a finger down the list of names. Unless Lily’s birth name was Iphigenia he didn’t think he was having any luck.

“You’re pathetic,” Sirius groans, collapsing into a seat at the table. He waves a hand. “But at least you can be a pathetic and up to date. I’ve got her address.”

James pauses in his searching and straightens. “Why the fuck do you have her address?” he asks.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “She’s been coming into the café for over a year,” he says. “I’ve delivered things to her house before.”

“But you don’t like her,” James says, befuddled.

Sirius sneers at him. “She’s a witch,” he says. “Of course I like her.”

“But you warned me away from her!”

Sirius actually snorts. “Just because I think she’s a wicked friend doesn’t mean I want you dating her,” he tells him. “But I see it’s far too late for that now, you sop. So can you get the hell out of here so I can die in peace?”

James’s heart pounds and he can’t even stop to be upset at Sirius for withholding this—truly critical—piece of information as he grabs his coat and writes down the address.

It’s a little flat near the center of town, grey and unassuming except for a box full of blood-red flowers (blooming in March) sitting on the windowsill. James knocks, holding his breath, but no one answers, and when he peeks through the window he sees that the neat sitting room is dark and empty.

James paces the pavement for a moment, then an idea sparks and he gets in his car.

Lily answers the door at Mary’s on the first knock. She looks tired and she’s wearing a faded sweatshirt, but her eyes widen when she sees James. “What are you doing here?” she asks, holding the door open just enough for her to stand in the frame.

James feels nervous all of a sudden, which is ridiculous, but he says, “I wanted to see you, and you weren’t at your house, so—”

There’s a sudden, hacking cough from inside and James breaks off. Lily grimaces. “Mary’s sick,” she says. “I’m taking care of her--”

There’s a clatter and then James hears Mary moan. “Liiily,” she says.

James fights off his disappointment. “Oh, okay, well I guess I’ll just--” he moves to step away, but Lily stops him with a hand on his arm. She’s biting her lip.

“I wanted to see you too,” she confesses, leaning further out the door.

James’s feels like someone set off a firework in his chest. “You did?” he asks.

Lily smiles and she answers him by grabbing him by the sweater, pulling him in and kissing him.

James leans into it, his arm winding around her waist and pulling her closer. The smell of her—roses and earth and something he can’t name or hold onto—fills the air and he thinks he could stay here forever, their lips touching and hands wrapped around each other.

Mary wails.

Lily breaks away with a swear. “I have to go,” she says, grimacing. “Fucking colds—it’s bad for witches when our magic is interfered with so I have to stay with her--”

It’s the first time she’s said the word witch and James couldn’t care less. He can still feel her lips on his and he feels dazed as he smiles at her. “Can I have your number?” he asks her. “Just so I can call you.”

Lily nods and, taking a pen from nowhere, she writes a series of numbers on James’s forearm. In the background, Mary wails louder.

James steals a last kiss from her, then she’s pushing him away and closing the door, but not before he sees the smile on her face.

James steps backwards into the cool, grey morning and smiles himself as he walks.

It feels like the start of something new.

* * *

 

His office is grey and sterile and completely drab except for one green fern in the corner of the room, dying for some proper sunlight that it won’t get in this typical English weather, and James can feel the slow dying of his soul as he swivels in his chair.

The wheels squeak on the tile floor and the glass wall that divides him from the rest of the firm shows his reflection.

James frowns. James-in-the-mirror frowns as well.

James smiles. The reflection mimics.

Sighing, he drops his head back against his chair, staring at the piles of papers on his desk.

“Hey.” Dorcas Meadowes leans into his office, her sharp suit looking mighty uncomfortable. “Kingsley wants to review your case files before the trial. And the DA wants to speak with you. She’s on line three.”

James nods, hand going wearily to the phone and before he can say thank you Dorcas is popping out again.

He pauses, hand hovering over the plastic receiver, then picks it up slowly.

“Hello? Mr. Potter?” Christine McKinley’s voice echoes through the tinny speaker, harried and self-important sounding.

James stares out the window, the dangerous grey sky yawning with rain over the dreary street. The clouds make him think of Lily.

He remembers Mary’s fierce gaze. _Dreams don’t grow on trees._

“Mr. Potter?”

James hangs up the phone.

* * *

 

“I brought take out and I expect compensation,” Lily declares as she lets herself into James’s house six days later. He and Sirius are sitting on the couch, midway through an episode of some crime show, but James looks up instantly at her arrival, a smile breaking out on his face.

She looks stunning, like she usually does, even though she’s wearing fishnet tights and a t-shirt that says ‘Save the Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker’.

“Evans,” Sirius grunts in acknowledgment.

“Black,” she returns.

James gets up off the couch to help her with the bags she brought and as she hands him the Chinese he takes the chance to steal a kiss. She smiles into it and gives his hand a squeeze. “Hi,” she says.

James grins back at her, giving her another short peck. “Hi,” he returns.

It’s getting more normal, the kissing. They’ve done it the last few times he went to visit her at Mary’s. The thought that he’s kissing a witch dances through his mind, but he banishes it easily. He’s kissing _Lily._

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” Sirius complains, throwing a pillow at them. Lily catches it easily and throws it right back at him, but with considerably more force.

“You get a room,” she counters. “I’m perfectly entitled to kiss my boyfriend at his own home, thank you very much. If you don’t like it, you can go elsewhere.”

James, halfway through opening the Chicken Chow Mein, freezes, eyes darting to Lily. She doesn’t notice his attentions though, instead frowning as she tries to deduce if the pot stickers are GMO. “I hate to be un-environmentally friendly,” she tuts. “Hmmm…maybe I should call and ask. James, what do you think?” She glances at him, raising an eyebrow.

James swallows, feeling a smile break out over his face. “Great,” he says. “I think it’s great.”

She narrows her eyes at him, clearly trying to deduce if he’s cracked or not, then shrugs and turns back to the takeout spread.

They eat dinner on the couch, Lily with her legs thrown over James’s lap which makes it quite difficult to eat, but he can’t bring himself to ask her to move them. Sirius makes a variety of faces at them the entire meal, some of them with his mouth open, and after the fifth time Lily threatens to seal his lips shut.

“You couldn’t,” Sirius snaps at her.

Lily raises a single eyebrow. “Do it again and we’ll find out,” she says flatly. “I once made sure Mary couldn’t talk for a month, and she knows how to reverse it. James, pass the spring rolls.”

When they finish eating there’s a lull and James sits back against the couch, his mind whirling.

Lily presses her shoulder to his and he silently leans forward and grabs the sheaf of papers lying on the coffee table.

Sirius stares blankly at the papers, a spring roll in one fist. His eyes shift to James.

James swallows, his heart pounding and his hands shake a bit as he looks at the printed black words.

It’s useless and a waste of paper because he’ll send it in an email anyway, but it feels symbolic.

“Goodbye lawyering,” Sirius says.

James doesn’t say anything until Lily, witch that she is, hands him a bottle of scotch.

* * *

 

There’s no such thing as a miracle, James thinks as he steps outside his door, the misty morning air wrapping around him.

He feels calmer than he thought he would, almost at ease. As if he isn’t replaying that moment in his mind, the cursor blinking on the screen, his finger pressing **Send.**

As if he hasn’t just tossed aside his life.

James rounds the corner and somehow he isn’t surprised to see Lily standing at the corner of the street, wearing a black coat. She looks at him and he looks at her and then without a word they’re stepping into place beside each other and walking.

They don’t say a word the entire trip, but as they’re climbing through the hedges, James grabs her hand and squeezes it.

She squeezes back and his heart hurts.

The field where they had the picnic looks exactly the same, just as wet and beautiful and remote as he remembers, and James wonders if this is even a real place. If he mentioned it to someone in town would they look at him strangely and say there’s nothing there. If it’s nothing but a dream from the girl standing beside him.

“Mary’s case was the last one I turned in,” James says finally. “Fully overturned.”

Lily shifts so she’s facing him and her eyes have never looked greener or sharper. “Thank you,” she says.

James swallows, still holding her hand. He traces his thumb over the back of it and she sucks in a breath. He meets her gaze. “I really like you,” he says, because he can’t not say it anymore.

But her eyes gleam. “I really like you too,” she says quietly. Her lips curve. “Even if you do your shopping at 4 AM.”

James smiles at her. “Your cat scares me,” he tells her in return.

Lily actually laughs at that, but he finds that he misses her frown. It’s who she is, this hard-edged girl. (This hard-edged witch).

Lily plays with the edge of his sleeve as rain begins to fall. “I’m a student at uni,” she confesses, glancing up at him. “In Manchester. All those dark magic books—they’re actually textbooks. I’m getting my PhD in history.”

James stares at her and he wants to laugh, because his whole life since he met her is insane, but what he ends up saying is, “You like encouraging the rumors don’t you?”

Lily’s lips twitch. “Maybe,” she admits, then shifts closer. Her hands travel up his chest and cup his cheeks. Rain drips into his eyes as she brings his head close to hers. “Dreams live on,” she whispers. “You’ll have a thousand new dreams before the end. This is just one.”

James kisses her and it doesn’t matter if she’s a witch or a girl. She’s real and she’s _here_ and she’s in his arms.

Lily kisses him back, pressing closer in the rain and he can feel the sharp edge of her frown against his lips. James smiles.

(He’s going to buy the first book on occult practices he can find and give it a five star review.)

 

 


End file.
